Fallen Angels
by Gumdrop1
Summary: At the end of her life Christine de Changy returns to the Opera Populaire to face her deamons and angels.


I have only a vague recollection of how I arrived at the Opera Populaire. I know I must have snuck out of the de Chagny estate very quietly for I awoke no one. I must have flagged down a handsome on the street because one of my own would not have left me here on the steps of the destroyed opera house alone in the middle of the night and I could not have walked here on my own. I pull my cloak tighter around myself and shiver. I should've worn something warmer. But considering how poor my health has been lately it is a surprise I was able to drag my aging body out of bed at all. I'm not sure how I did it, it must have been either sheer will or sheer desperation. But none the less I am here. Standing on the steps of the Opera Populaire in the dead of winter in the middle of the night. The snow continues to fall and the wind continues to howl and I must make a choice, go on or turn back. I take a look around at the dark and empty streets of Paris now completely covered in white, then turn back to the ruined opera house. I sigh because I know there is no turning back. I am old and I am sick and if I do not do this now I will never find the strength or will to do it again.

It would be nice if I could take a deep breath of winter air to gather my courage, but a deep breath is beyond my sick lung's capacity and I can only choke on it.. There is no point in lingering out in the cold any longer so I pull open the door and go inside.

The stench of dust and rotting wood is overpowering and makes me cough. Moonlight streams in through holes in the ceiling and bathes the grand staircase in a ghostly glow. Snow has fallen in through those same holes as well and the moonlight sparkles off it like a thousand glittering jewels. I start slowly up the grand staircase and freeze after only a few steps. I close my eyes as memories begin to wash over me. I have kept the flood gates so tightly closed over the years that now that I have finally opened them fully the memories threaten to drown me.

For a moment the freezing cold seems to melt away and is replaced by a different kind of chill. The silence seems to change as well, grow heavier with anticipation. I can almost smell red wine and the sulfur of spent fireworks. And though I know it isn't real I would swear I feel his eyes on me, his adoring gaze roaming over my body. The thought sends a shiver down my spine but I do not move. Frozen to my spot half way up the stairs like I was that night. The night of the bal masque.

I can still see it as clearly as if it were but yesterday. Feel my satin ball gown against my skin, my heart pounding within my chest as my ghostly angel approached me. He had come dressed as red death. All whom encountered him that evening had been frightened of him, including me. But as much as I was terrified by the Phantom of the Opera I was also entranced by my Angel of Music. And once his eyes locked with mine I felt myself being pulled up the stairs towards him by a desire that to this day the thought of which still causes me to blush. Perhaps if he had known how well the point of no return captured both our souls he would have never sent me away with Raoul. Raoul. How easily I forget my husband. He never should've come after me that night. Looking back on all the years we've spent together, all the times I've wished I were in a cold damp opera cellar with a phantom instead of the warm, lavish estate with my husband, I really wasn't worth it. He should've just left me. I would've been happier, and maybe he would've been happier too. Lord knows I haven't been much of a wife.

But it is over and it is done. I am old and sick and will thankfully not have much longer to ponder my tragic mistake. And now I have come to the one place I felt most alive to end my life. I want to die here, on my own terms, on my own time at the Opera Populaire. So I am headed down to my angel's lair. The kingdom of music hidden under the opera house. It was in that place that I felt my life both truly begun and ended, and there is shall allow it to end for good.

I must press on. I cannot linger on these steps contemplating my past or present any longer. The future, what I have left myself of it, awaits. I open my eyes and continue up the grand staircase. I move through the opera house easily, despite how long it has been I have not forgotten the way. I go behind the stage and through a door that leads to the cellars. I go down one cellar, two, three. I am four cellars down now, almost there. The temperature has dropped significantly now that I am deep within the basements of the opera house. The cold is finally starting to seep in. Perhaps more than I realize, I am becoming delirious with it, no longer able to walk straight. But before I can think any more on the subject the aged stone floor suddenly drops off from underneath me and the air escapes my lungs as I plunge into the inky blackness of the lake below, the freezing water hitting me like a thousand knives. Pieces of the broken floor continue to fall about me and I try to avoid them as I paddle frantically to the side. But I can't swim and my soaked clothes are heavy and threaten to drag me down. My arms flail out in front of me and my legs kick desperately from behind. But before I can reach safety I feel something heavy and jagged connect with my head. The sharp pain makes my head swim and what little light that had been reflected off the lake fades into blackness as I feel myself sink below the surface.

This was not what I had planned for my death. I had wanted to lay myself down in the elegant swan bed or stretch myself out on top of his glorious organ and let my body finally give out in peace. I didn't want to drown in the expansive lake that is the finally barrier between me and my angel's home, me and the promise of a peaceful eternal rest. But perhaps this was how it was supposed to be after all. Perhaps this is what I deserve.

I remember there was snow pouring down from the heavens blanketing all of Paris. I remember plunging into the icy cold lake and the blackness that I was so sure meant my death. But I am not dead. Someone, a man, found me and pulled me from the lake. Now I am in his arms and he has carried me from the opera house back out into the blizzard outside. I am sopping wet from the lake and the winter air hits me hard. I draw closer to my mysterious savior. Mysterious. He has pulled my soaked cloak over my face so that I cannot see him but I know. _I know_ I know the feel of being carried in his strong arms. My face in the crook of his neck I recognize the smell of his skin, the feel of his heartbeat against my side. My God, it's him. My angel of music, my guide, my guardian, my Erik. Once again he has come to rescue me from the depths of my own despair. And now I am crying.

The cloak slips from my face and I can see that we are approaching the bank of the river. The snow is almost up to Erik's knees and if I wasn't for the tops of the buildings I'm not sure I'd be able to tell we were still in the city. He takes me to an old broken down fishing shack, the door barely on it's hinges and he struggles with getting us inside, the snow heavily blocking the door.

Inside it is not much warmer then outside. He lays me down on a bed of straw in the far corner of the small one room shack then turns his attention to the small pot bellied stove that sits in the middle and starts to shovel coal in and begins a fire. He comes back to my side and freezes when he sees that I am awake and watching him. Him in his mask less, disheveled state

"Christine." He whispers, his voice is filled with a sense of longing and wonder, as if he still doesn't believe I am real and not some figment of his imagination. I try to call out to him but the words come slurred and after a moment I stop trying. But he is still a distance away from me and I must bring him closer. So I reach out my hand to him. _Come to me angel of music._ I did not realize how much I had been shivering until I witness my outstretched hand convulsing in front of my eyes. Still it has the desired effect, he comes to my side immediately.

"Oh Christine." He says as he kneels down beside me, taking my hand in his. He looks my whole body over, taking in my wet shivering form. How different I must look to him now, how old, how broken. I ceased being his beautiful young ingénue a long time ago. Where that girl went I do not know, maybe she died the night of Don Juan Triumphant. I just don't know any more. For all my years I am no more wiser now then when I was sixteen.

Erik puts his hands on my face and neck and leans down to kiss my forehead. I close my eyes and sigh. The kiss isn't romantic or even meant to comfort but I thought I would die without ever feeling his lips on my flesh again. Therefore it is still the most exquisite kiss I have received in years. But it only last a moment as he was only checking for a fever.

"My God Christine you fell like ice." He goes over to the small trunk that sits in the left corner under the only window and takes out a white dress shirt. He comes back, spreads open my soaked cloak and begins to undo the ties on the front of my cotton nightgown. "What were you thinking? Going out into a blizzard in the dead of winter half dressed." I don't say anything, can't say anything, just watch as the realization dawns in his eyes that I am completely naked under the gown. With only three out of six ribbons undone and the slightest bit of bare skin exposed to his eyes he has ceased his actions and is holding the front of my nightgown slightly open, his hands shivering, his eyes wide with wonder. He locks gazes with me and stares at me for a long moment before swallowing and continuing to undo my nightgown. He unties every ribbon but doesn't open the front of the gown. I'm not surprised, as much as I'm sure of his desire for me he would never take advantage. He stops and looks at me a moment, no doubt thinking how best he can undress me that I will not be jostled about but at the same time I won't be exposed to his wanton eyes. Not that I would object to his heated gaze on my cold naked skin. But in truth what would come of it but only torture for us both. It is taking all the strength I have just to hold onto life.

He pulls a woolen blanket, the only one I have seen in this place, over me and he reaches underneath to push my nightgown up and over my hips. I can feel his hands shivering on my legs. Then he moves his hands, using one to support my lower back and another to support my head as he gently lifts me up and lays me against his chest. He slips the soaked night gown over my head and drops it to the side. Then he wraps the blanket against my bare back to dry off my wet skin. The blanket is scratchy against my back but I do not care. Nor do I care about my bare chest against his cold wet shirt from where the blanket slipped down in front of me. I am simply so happy to be in his arms that none of that matters. But it makes me realize something I didn't before, he didn't just pull me from the lake, he dove in after me. He risked his life for me, a woman who came out to give up on that same life.

I wish he would just hold me against him forever but I can already feel him pulling his shirt on my arms. He lays me back down, stretching himself across me so that he doesn't see my exposed front. As he pulls away he pulls the shirt closed and buttons it. It takes him a long time, his hands still shivering. He pulls the blanket over me and then turns back to the pot of boiling water on the stove.

I look around me, taking a good look at this shack he has brought me to. It is small, one room. And it most definitely was used for fishing, the smell is still permeating.

He comes back to me with a bone china tea cup in his hands. I recognize the pattern from the populaire. The opera ghost is nothing if not resourceful. He sits the tea cup on the floor beside me and careful lifts me head up with one hand and the tea cup with another.

"Drink this Christine. It will warm you, and the sugar will give you strength." I haven't been eating or drinking these past few weeks and don't think I'll be able to keep the tea down. But I will try, for him. The tea is warm and soothing and he seems so pleased to see me drink it that I force myself to finish the entire cup. He lays my head back down and sits the cup back on it's saucer.

He turns then and goes back to the trunk and takes out another shirt and a pair of pants. Then he goes to sit by the stove with his back turned to me and changes his wet clothes. I watch him with abandon, showing none of the same kind restrain the showed with me. He is older, leaner. He is still well muscled and straight backed but he has changed. He is not the elegant Phantom of the Opera anymore, he is tired, broken. I broke him. He finishes dressing but leaves his shirt open. Then turns and returns to my side with the rest of the pot of heated water which had been cooling on the cold floor, and his wet shirt. He takes the sleeve of the shirt and dips it in the pot of water which is no longer scalding hot but only warm. He dabs it against my temple and I wince mildly in pain. I had forgotten about my head injury I wonder if it is very bad, though from the expression on his face I don't think it is. I think he is just cleaning it. He finishes then looks down at my still shivering form.

"Christine." he pleads. "You're still so cold. Let me hold you. Let me try to warm you." I want to tell him yes, that I want to be in his arms more than anything, but when I open my mouth to speak the only sound that comes out is my teeth chattering. So I reach out my trembling hand and caress his damaged cheek. He understands and lifts the blanket. I move over and he climbs in beside me.

He lays on his side to face me and I try to meet him but I can't seem to find the strength. My angel sees me struggling and gently moves me till I am on my side flush against him. We both sigh. I manage to wrap my leg over his hip and he positions himself so that he is able to bury his face in my neck and we wrap our arms around each other. He reaches down and grabs the blanket, drawing it up over our heads. We stay like that for a long time, in the dark, breathing in each others' breath, shivering.

Eventually I start to feel warmer and chance speaking.

"Erik, are you awake?"

"Yes Christine, I'm awake."

"I don't understand. If you're living here then why were you at the Populaire? How did you find me?"

"I was looking for things."

"What kind of things?"

"Things that could fetch a price."

"Oh." So that is how he has been surviving all these years with no managers to exploit. "But why not continue to live down there?"

"Because I'm not the only one who goes down there anymore. No one fears the opera ghost any longer." I don't know how to reply to that so I say nothing. "Why were you down there Christine?"

"I was looking for something as well."

"What?"

"I'm not sure. Something to remind me of my past. Remind me that it was all real, that it was not just some adolescent fantasy." I feel him start to laugh against me, it is a strange ghostly laugh and it chills me.

"What's so funny?"

"An adolescent fantasy? I know you were always fond of ghost stories Christine but really, to say that all the horror I put you through was nothing but the musings of a bored opera singers mind…that is a bit crazy even for you don't you think?" I frown.

"Not everything was horrid. You were my angel, you are my angel. I understand why you did what you did that night."

"Oh you understand do you?" His voice drips with a cold anger that sends a shiver of fear down my spine. He pulls his face from my neck to look at me and even in this pitch blackness underneath the wool blanket I have no doubt he can see me though I cannot see him. "And what exactly do you understand Christine?"

"I…I…"I stutter but not from the cold. I am searching for words that can explain my confused thoughts but will not anger him. "I didn't…I just…I mean to say that I forgive you…"

"You forgive me?" He interrupts, and I shudder in his arms. "I do not remember asking for your forgiveness Christine, nor do I want it."

"You're lying," I say with more confidence then I knew I possessed. He gives a small snort of frustration at my defiance, then puts his face back in the crook of my neck and pulls me closer to him.

"You don't know that." It's is a challenge, he always loved to challenge me.

"Don't I? Tell me Erik, why is the Phantom of the Opera living in some old fishing shack?"

"That has nothing to do with anything."

"Doesn't it? You built a kingdom to music in the basement of an opera house and now you're hiding in some rickety shack that smells like yesterday's catch. Doesn't that say to you that something has happened in the interim?"

"And what exactly do you think has happened?"

"You've given up." I feel all his muscles tense then relax. I am right and he knows I know.

"So what if I have? What is it any concern to you?"

"It is of great concern to me."

"Why?"

"Because I still love you." He breathes out sharply, his breath tickling my skin. He doesn't say anything for a long moment and I have to know what is going through his mind. "Erik, speak to me, do you not believe that I love you?"

" I am sure that you do. In your own way." I sigh and inward I curse all the people who have destroyed his sense of self worth, myself included. Is that it then? This barrier of time and space, and missed communicated opportunities that continually building the wall back up between us?

"But surely you lived before me. Why can you not live after me?"

"I never lived before you Christine, only existed. You were my life." There is another long pause, then he scoffs. "And you Christine?"

"I don't understand."

"How has your life been. I gave up my life's happiness for yours. I'd like to know if it was worth it." I finger my wedding band in the dark and guilty think of my loving husband at home and the fallen angel in my arms.

"I am married."

"And?"

"I am a mother."

"So you live a nice happy fulfilled life then?" I know that this is not quite what it seems, another secret passage behind a mirror, but I will let him lead me through it anyways, I always do.

"Yes."

"Now's who's lying?"

"What makes you think that I am lying?"

"If you were so very happy you wouldn't have had to come out into the middle of a blizzard in your nightgown searching for something to remind you of your past to bring you peace." I scoff at that. I can't stand it, the truth being laid out in front of me is too much for me too bear. I push away from him and stand straight up, wanting to recoil in anger. The sudden movement however makes my head swim and I being to pass out, but before I can the blanket is around my shoulders and he is helping me sit back down. Alright so I can't storm off, but I'm not going to let him get away with his accusations that easily either.

"You don't know me." I continue. He sighs, refusing to fight with me in this state.

"Lay down Christine, you need to stay warm." I lay down and offer the blanket so he can get back in and we

move to hold each other again.

"But we are going to finish this."

"Finish what?"

"This, us. We have to figure out what went wrong. We have to make peace, set things right."

"Why?"

"Why?!" I am shocked, doesn't he understand? It wasn't supposed to be like this, we weren't meant to be like this.

"Because it can't end like this Erik, it just can't. Fate brought us together again surely that means something."

"Means what? Christine there is a blizzard outside and it is not much warmer in here. We are in a poor shelter were no body knows where we are or even where to start looking. We may still freeze to death before the night is done. And even if we do survive I am still a murderer and you are still a wife and mother."

"So that is it then. It's over. There's no going back."

"There never was."

"And the future?"

"What future Christine? We have no future, not together." I know this is true but I don't want to believe it. The reality of my mistakes is all to clear. Too late. I could have refused to leave him that night, turned around and ran back into his arms, refused to marry Raoul. Oh God, how many times could I have come back to Erik? A million? More? If I am unhappy with my life it is my fault and no one else's. I did this. I start to cry.

"I am sorry. Angel can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"Forgive you? What possible reason could there be for you to need to ask my forgiveness?"

"I betrayed you. All you ever did was love me and all I ever did was betray you." I feel Erik sigh against me and he nuzzles my neck softly.

"Yes I loved you. I also burned down the opera house, kidnapped you, strangled two men to death, then threatened to do the same to your fiancée if you didn't agree to marry me. Why would you want my forgiveness?

"I told you, I love you." He sighs again, a slightly defeated sigh, I am starting to bring down the wall between us.

"There's nothing to forgive you for Christine. But if you want my forgiveness, then you have it." I know I should fell better now. The guilt over what I did to Erik has haunted me all my life. Somehow though his words bring me little comfort. Maybe because they are just that, words. His forgiveness cannot wipe away the guilt I feel no more then they can go back in time and allow me the chance to stay and be his bride. "But it is not my forgiveness you are seeking Christine is it?" My eyebrows raise, I had not expected him to continue. "See, I do know you." I swallow "Talk to me Christine. Confess your sins to me. Surely yours cannot be any worse then my own, and perhaps in the confession you will find the peace you seek."

"I don't want to burden you."

"It is no burden. Please Christine, let me do this for you. You have given me so much and I have given you so little. Let me do this for you now. I want to protest, say that things are just the opposite. That it is he who has given me everything and I who have given him nothing. But he is still my angel and I still desperately seek his approval and guidance. I will tell him later after I unburden my soul, he would only dismiss the thought now anyway. I take a deep breath.

"I knew, as soon as I saw you sitting there on the edge of the bed that I didn't want to leave, that I would regret it for the rest of my life if I did." He moves slightly against me. His mind is restless, he wants to know why I left. "It's alright, ask me. I'll tell you if you want to know." He sighs, I know there is a large part of him that doesn't want to know, that is afraid to know.

"If you knew you would regret it for the rest of your life then why did you leave?"

"I was afraid."

"Of me?"

"Of us."

"I don't understand." I sigh because I am not sure even I completely understand.

"You were always either hot or cold with me, there was never any in between. I was sixteen and I was frightened." He doesn't say anything more for a long time so I continue with my confession.

"I was a bad wife to Raoul." He doesn't comment and I know to trod carefully with this subject. Still there is more I need to say. "He loved me in ways I could never return. He tried to give me everything he thought I wanted and I only punished him for his efforts the more he tried. It wasn't fair. I have been a bad wife to him and I have destroyed the innocent friendship we once enjoyed. I should not have stayed with him only to punish him for my own sins."

"No you shouldn't have." My eyes widen though I shouldn't be surprised. He was always honest in judging my voice, why not my character. "I said I would hear your confession Christine, I never said I would lie to you. Go on."

"My daughter."

"What about her?"

"She's not mine. She's not Raoul's either if that's what your thinking."

"I wasn't thinking anything."

"You're always thinking something." I can feel him smile a quick devious smile against my neck. "At any rate, I could never have children. The doctors say it's because I've been sick so much, that I'm just too weak."

"It doesn't matter whether you gave birth to her or not , she's still your child."

"That's what I kept telling myself when she showed up in a basket on our doorstep. Raoul said that she was a gift from God, a sign that I was meant to be a mother after all."

"Maybe she was, maybe you were."

"But I was a horrible mother. I love her more then anything, would lay down my very life for her, but I am a horrible mother."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because it is true. Ever since she entered our lives my very presence has done nothing but upset her. She would cry whenever I entered the room and wail whenever I tried to pick her up. I didn't want to torment her so I left her with her nurse. I thought that maybe we would be able to bond better as she grew older. But by then Raoul's family had already taken an interest in her and were beginning to turn her against me. And the truth is that I didn't think I deserved a child's love. So I let them. Now she is grown and probably thinks that her mother doesn't love her." I start to cry now, the reality of things starting to sink in. "Oh Erik!" I sob. "What have I done? "What have I done!" My body is raked with sobs and I start to shiver and cough. Erik holds me tighter and kisses my neck.

"Angel, angel." He sooths, until I am settled enough he feels he can speak and I will hear him. "The mistakes you made cannot be undone, but it is not over. Your life is not over. The storm still pass and you will have your chance to make amends."

"It won't fix things."

"No, but it will bring you peace."

"I don't deserve peace."

"Everyone deserves peace." I suddenly start to laugh uncontrollably, like someone who has just lost their mind. He puffs up he chest in a very indignant fashion. He was trying to comfort me and now I have hurt his pride.

"You don't believe that." I manage to choke out as I begin to stop laughing. "If you did you wouldn't be here." I mean this run down fishing shack and he knows what I mean.

"And what is so wrong with here? It is a perfectly suitable place to live away from the condemning eyes of Parisian society." Whether he means me, Raoul, or both of us I am not entirely sure but I will not allow him to bait me.

"I know you Erik. You are an artist with a taste for beautiful surroundings. The only reason you have put yourself in this place now is to punish yourself!"

"And what about you?! Why stay with Raoul all those years if you were so unhappy? I wasn't the only one who was punishing myself Christine!" I am so angry with him I could spit nails. How dare he use my confession against me.

"And I…I…I'm sorry you found me in the lake!"

"So am I!" I can see the regret in his eyes the instant the words are out of his mouth, but it still hurts. "Christine…" he pleads. But the words have been said and they can't be undone. I put my hand over my mouth, shocked and heartbroken and roll over, turning my back on him. After a few moments he rolls over too because the truth of the matter is he just doesn't know what else to do. How does one learn the right way to argue, or make up, when they have spent most of their life in the basement of an opera house.

The tension between us dies quickly but the silence remains. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours. I feel Erik get up as he leaves me to go shovel more coal into the small stove. When he returns I am lying on my back. This does not seem to faze him as he crawls right in beside me. He lays on his side and drapes his leg across my waist with abandon. And buries his face once more in my neck. Whether for comfort or to rid himself of his guilt I do not know, nor do I care, I am merely thankful we have made up.

"You're still very cold." He mumbles into my neck. Does he really think I would pull away now?

"So are you." I say, reaching my hand out to touch his chest and then blushing when I realize what I'm doing. "You're practically frozen." I move my hand to stroke his head and I can feel him smile. For a long while he is quiet and if not for him speaking I would have thought he had fallen asleep.

"Christine, are you awake?"

"Yes, Erik, I'm awake."

"I've been thinking."

"I told you were always thinking something." He smiles again, and then I suddenly feel more of his weight on me. I would not of thought it could be a depressing feeling but it is, like dead weight. What ever he is about to say to me isn't good. "What were you thinking about?"

"Us."

"And?"

"You made the right choice." My face contorts and tears start to flow, but somehow I manage to keep my voice even.

"Don't say that." He pull his face away and looks down on me, this conclusion did not come easily to him either.

"It's true. You were right about me being either hot or cold only it wasn't just me it was us, it is us. Look at what we've done to each other in one night. How many tears we've caused each other. How much we've angered each other. It's like taking a lighted match to a pool of gasoline. It's a brilliant flash while it lasts but eventually we would've burned each other out. And neither of us would've survived it." I am starting to sob now though I am sill managing some control, but my voice sounds strained.

"You don't know that for sure! You can't know that for sure! And what does it matter Erik! What would it have mattered? Look at us! We have wasted our lives away in misery. At least if we had gone up in flames together then we would have had something worth dying for! I would have rather gone up in flames as that sixteen year old girl with only one brilliant flash to remember my life by then wasting so many years and dying in a frozen city with nothing but a blanket of regrets to warm me!" And before I can say any more his lips are on mine in a kiss. It is sweet and soft and passionate and warms me like no wool blanket or stove ever could. And it is over all too soon.

"Christine, I want you to go home tomorrow and find your peace. I want you to be happy. You can still be happy."

"And you? I want you to take better care of my angel of music." He smiles at me.

"I promise to move into a better house." I laugh at retort. "And I will take better care of your angel." We don't say _I love you_. It is not something that needs to be said again and would only make us long for things we know cannot have. He settles back down to rest on top of me and we fall asleep, the most peaceful I have had in many years.

The morning light that comes through the shacks' window serves only to disturb my sleep, it does nothing for the cold. Cold. _Erik!_ I sit straight up in bed. He's gone and there is a note on the pillow beside where my head was laying. _No no no no. _I start to cry because I know what it is going to say even before I read it.

_Christine,_

_Come now Angel, we both know if I were here you would have never left and never let me force you to leave. I was your teacher remember? I know you never make the same mistake twice. The shack and most of the city has already been dug out. As you can see I have hung up your clothes to dry and there is plenty of coal in the stove. There is some money under the pillow, you will not have any trouble getting a handsome. Go home Christine. And keep your promise to your angel, I will keep yours._

_O.G._

There is really no point in waiting. I dress and fetch the money from under the pillow. I leave, refusing to look back at the little shack as I go, the pain to much to bear. He was right, the streets are bustling with activity and I find a handsome quickly, ignoring the strange looks I get from passers by.

Sitting in the handsome I clutch Erik's shirt in my hands. I told myself that there was no point in leaving it behind if he wasn't coming back, but that is not the reason why I kept it. I cough suddenly, covering my mouth with my hand. When I draw my hand away there is blood which I wipe on the inside of my cloak. I am not just old and sick, I am dying of consumption, the doctor said I could suddenly collapse at any time. I will not live past this winter, but I will keep my promise to Erik. I will find my peace. He saved my life more than once, and for all the time left I will make it a life worth saving.


End file.
